


Mistakes

by TwistaLolita



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Cannibalism, Emetophobia, Gen, Guro, Midnight Crew - Freeform, The Felt - Freeform, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:30:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistaLolita/pseuds/TwistaLolita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He needs to go on a walk; he needs to clear his head. <em>Stop thinking, relax, breathe</em>.</p><p>Mistake number one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you unseenminion and stunrunner for editing! <3

Being the leader of a gang means that Crowbar has to have good instincts - and he does. Not once under his command has there been a false alarm or a drill. Everything that happens is calculated, and occurs for a reason. There is no emotional involvement, at least no more than necessary. It was always him and his teammates. All for one, and one for all.

So when Crowbar wakes up with a cold sheen of sweat on his forehead and an overwhelming sense of dread that something is going to happen, he listens to it. He doesn’t have nightmares, not ones that make a lasting impression. In fact, he can’t remember dreaming about anything at all. One minute, he’s asleep; the next, he’s panicking, his heart slamming against his rib cage so hard that it hurts to breathe.

The first thing he does when he manages to pull himself out of bed is vomit. The urge is sudden, and the nausea overpowers him worse than any pain he’s felt before. He hardly manages to make it to the bathroom that’s across the hallway before he’s retching. A hideous shade of blue colors the toilet water as he heaves, a mixture of bile and the remnants of a dinner he can’t remember burning his throat.

Even as he throws up, Crowbar’s thinking, mind rushing wildly to try to figure out why he feels this way.

He doesn’t know what’s more terrifying: the fact that there’s blood in his puke now, or he can’t think of a single logical answer as to why this is happening.

When he manages to pull himself away from the toilet, his teeth are chattering. They refuse to stop, even when he’s brushing his teeth to get the awful taste from his mouth, when he’s in the shower with the heat cranked up so high he feels like his skin will blister, when he puts on his clothes again. In fact, his whole body is shaking, followed by a cold that he can’t feel. He can’t be sick, there’s no way; no one else in this mansion has been for a long time, and the food was cooked fine last night.

Yet here he is, shuddering like he has a fever, and just about as coherent.

He needs to go on a walk; he needs to clear his head. _Stop thinking, relax, breathe_.

Mistake number one.

He remembers walking the first two blocks, and then there’s nothing.

And then there are voices, angry tones saying something that Crowbar’s brain can’t comprehend.

He attempts to open his eyes, but his eyelids feel impossibly heavy, and his mouth unwillingly opens. He can’t control his jaw, and he lets out a sound that’s a mix between a groan and a whine.

Mistake number two.

The angry voice stops for a moment before saying something hushed that Crowbar can’t make out. He feels a pressure on his face, and his head’s being turned side to side. But it’s all numb, and everything feels far away, like what he’s experiencing is happening to someone else and he’s watching it happen.

Crowbar squeezes his eyes together tightly through the haze, concentrating on the sounds as they slowly come into focus.

“Make sure there’s no trace of the body,” Slick spits, releasing Crowbar’s head and letting it roll down back to his chest. “Don’t want those assholes figuring out a way to revive him or some shit.” 

“Sure boss, whatever you say,” Boxcars replies. A mumble follows the sounds of footsteps that gradually fade away, and Slick’s disappearance is accompanied by a loud thudding of doors somewhere far beyond both Boxcars and Crowbar.

Crowbar’s brain is still slow, but the exchange is enough to make him start panicking. He tries to move his arms, only to find they’re tied behind him. He tries his legs, but meets with the same results.

Suddenly, the panic he felt earlier --this morning? yesterday?-- makes sense.

Crowbar somehow knew he was going to die.

“Hey there, buddy,” Boxcars sneers, patting Crowbar’s cheek with his large hand, which effectively ends up smacking the entire left side of Crowbar’s face. “Rise and shine.” He gives Crowbar a grin, and there’s something about the smell of Boxcars’ breath that makes Crowbar struggle against his restraints again.

“Oh God,” Crowbar manages to say, his mouth finally connecting with his brain, and he tugs at the ropes around his wrists so hard that the material begins to break his skin. He’s trying to rock back and forth, something, anything to get him some leverage over this situation.

“Naw, don’t be like that,” Boxcars says, a hand reaching out to steady Crowbar’s chair. “Yer just makin’ this more complicated than it needs to be. You need to relax.”  
Crowbar opens his mouth to make some sort of retort, but instead lets out an inhuman wheeze as Boxcars punches him in the chest, knocking all the air out of his lungs. He’s gasping, trying to suck in breath, squirming-

And suddenly, he’s being lifted off the ground, facing downward as Boxcars holds the chair he’s sitting in by the legs. Crowbar lets out a gasp as he finally manages to find his breath again, inhaling through clenched teeth as the ropes dig painfully into his limbs.

“You know, I’ve never tasted wood before,” Boxcars comments, turning the chair by its legs in his hands as he examines the sight before him. He flips Crowbar up so the chair is upright, and he’s holding it by its back and the seat Crowbar sits on, as if he’s indecisive.

Crowbar doesn’t understand the comment until he feels a sharp pain and hears the crunching of wood and bone. The breath he had fought so desperately for is immediately lost in an agonized scream.

Boxcars not only just ate the left front leg of the chair, but also took Crowbar’s leg up to his knee along with it. Blood spurts from the wound; the jagged end of the femur juts out from the mess of flesh and bone. The pain burns him, shooting up through his body and lighting every nerve.

The only thing that’s worse than the pain is the sound, the absolutely disgusting noise of bone and wood and flesh being ground between razor sharp teeth. He can hear the crunching and splintering and the wet sound of meat being chewed.

For the second time, Crowbar retches, looking over just as Boxcars swallows his first bite and opens his mouth for his second.

Mistake number three.

The sight is grotesque. Time moves in slow motion as Crowbar watches Boxcars’ mouth open, his jaw widening, revealing bloodied teeth as he leans in.

The space between his two mandibles continues to stretch further apart, _impossibly_ far, before he sees the lower jaw fall slack, dangling by its lower processes as Boxcars rips another chunk of flesh and bone — Crowbar’s other leg— from his body. He lets out another shriek, tears spilling from his eyes as Boxcars cranes his neck and tears individual strands of muscle from Crowbar’s trunk. Red creeps up the remaining fabric of Crowbar’s pants and splatters all over his shirt and face. His whole body’s shaking from a mix of terror and physical shock.

Yet, other than his chewing, Boxcars is deathly silent, concentrating on the task before him. There’s nothing Crowbar can do to distract himself from what’s happening.

 _Oh God, please just let me die_.

The process is long and slow. Boxcars chews carefully and thoughtfully, making sure that the mess in his mouth is properly mashed before he swallows. He works methodically, tearing off flesh from Crowbar’s left side before doing the same to the right.

Crowbar screams until his throat burns, still trying to tug at his hands, knowing it will do nothing but too spurred on by fear to care.

 _If only he could get his hands free_.

Crowbar finally loses consciousness as Boxcars makes it halfway up his torso. The last thing he hears is the sound of a bite sliding down Boxcars’ throat.


End file.
